


If I Could Fly

by morebooksplease



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Crying, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hugging, Hurt, John Dies, Ouch, Shirbert, Still cant tag, Walter - Freeform, but u should still read it, gilbert's mourning, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morebooksplease/pseuds/morebooksplease
Summary: They said time would heal the wounds but Gilbert can’t help but pick at the wounds, reopening them while they’re healing.Gilbert had finally been in a place where he could be happy without feeling that overwhelming sense of guilt and then Bash had found an old box of mementos. All the memories had come pouring back, filling him to the brink.Those damned memories had been hanging over him like a dark cloud, the guilt rushing in like the ocean and drowning him in his sorrows.OrGilbert remembers all he’s lost and finds comfort in Anne.





	If I Could Fly

**Author's Note:**

> hoooo boy, so this was a huge pain to write but i'm hoping that it's not that bad.  
> Enjoy!

It was a lovely day in Avonlea, just like any other. Gilbert had just gotten of the afternoon train from Charlottetown, having just come from Dr. Ward’s office and took note of the blooming flowers around him as he walked past.  Everything was as it should be, quiet and secure.

 

_Sometimes it was the quietness of the town that made him want to run away again._

 

_But it was mainly the memories._

 

The sun was going down as he walked home, opting for a more scenic route rather than the increasingly crowded streets. The snow had long melted and had been replaced by lush greenery, something that Anne loved and in turn he loved as well.

 

_His father had always loved spring_

 

Gilbert had left all those years ago because he was weak. Every single place in the small town reminded him of all he had lost, _every single thing_. He couldn’t stand being there without his father, and after all there was nothing in this small town for him. Yet he had returned for Bash, for Anne, and for himself.

 

_They said time would heal the wounds but Gilbert can’t help but pick at the wounds, reopening them while they’re healing._

 

Gilbert had finally been in a place where he could be happy without feeling that overwhelming sense of guilt and then Bash had found an old box of mementos. All the memories had come pouring back, filling him to the brink.  Those damned memories had been hanging over him like a dark cloud, the guilt rushing in like the ocean and drowning him in his sorrows.

 

_“Gillie? Can I come in?” asked a rough voice from behind the wooden door. Quickly, a younger-Gilbert wiped his tears on his shirt, a hand-me-dow_ _n from his older brother who was currently serving in the military._

 

_“No!” exclaimed Gilbert childishly, voice cracking at the end. The door opened, ignoring Gilbert’s weak protests. A familiar weight settled beside him as he sniffled and wiped his sleeve again._

 

_“What occurred this time?” they asked, voice gentle as their hand moved to encircle Gilbert’s small frame, continuously rubbing small circles on the small of his back. At this moment, however, nothing could console Gilbert. He wept continuously, until the lump in his throat subsided, all the while his father stayed right by his side. His father, his rock._

 

_“I coul- couldn’t keep up with the reading,” sniffled Gilbert, putting his head between his knees, “Billy Andrews said I was a buffoon.”_

 

_“Oh my, come here, dear boy,” Gilbert moved to lean on them, tiny hands desperately grasping for something to hold. “Pay no attention to them; you’ll grow on to do great things- just like your mother wished.”_

 

_“Father?” Gilbert asked after a moment of silence and as his father mussed his hair playfully, “Why are some people so … so awfully cruel?”_

 

_His father’s sad eyes turned to him before answering; he loosened his hold and wiped the stray tears from Gilbert’s face._

 

_“Some people’s hearts are frozen, my dear boy,” he responded quietly, “But your heart is pure, which is why you have to lead by example. If you show them how to love, they will do the same.  Bu listen to me Gilbert, you must never turn someone in need away, no matter their hair color or skin color because underneath we are all exactly the same. Understood?”_

 

_Gilbert nodded quickly, eager to please his father. After another brief moment of comfortable silence he turned back to his father. “But … what if it’s a girl … with monstrous green hair, do I still have to help her?”_

 

_His father chuckled breathily, “Yes Gillie, even then.” John kissed his son’s forehead tenderly._

 

_“But girls are dreadfully odd, they always run away when I try to talk to them … Charlie Sloan said they have bad germs.”_

 

_“Bad germs? Well, I’m not sure about that. But keep in mind Gillie, one day you’ll meet a girl that will change your perception of the world.” His father murmured with an amused face, “Now come, Walter sent a letter.”_

Lord, Gilbert desperately wished he had cherished those memories when he had a chance. But he was merely a child, how could he have known. 

 

There was no way he could’ve known,

 

That he would be the last, the only Blythe on this large expanse of heartless land.

 

He walked, not towards home but wherever his heart led him. Bash wouldn’t worry, Mary might fret a bit but he’d return home soon enough. Right now, he needed to allow himself to mourn, mourn his childhood and his family. 

 

Gilbert would go wherever his spirit took him.

 

Gilbert wasn’t sure how long he’d walked, but his legs had begun to ache and he knew he must turn back soon.  His spirit kept insisting that he move forward, and he did, letting himself be guided by his internal compass. He followed the long brown path before him, afoot and anything but lighthearted.

 

_“Afoot and light- lighthearted, I take to the open road.” Gilbert recited, stopping after the verse to look at his father. “Father, what does afoot mean?”_

 

_“Well, it can mean that preparations are being made, or travelling on foot.” John responded weakly, his voice growing raspy. Gilbert simply nodded in response, too young and naïve to understand the seriousness of his father’s disease._

 

_“Father, will you ever get better? I want to go play outside.” Gilbert asked bluntly, gently putting the worn book down to face his father, whose face looked especially pale._

 

_“Of course I will, Gillie,” he whispered as he moved a loose curl off of Gilbert’s forehead fondly._

 

_“Father! I’ve asked you to stop calling me that! Billie Andrews said it was too childish, and I’m grown up now.” Gilbert exclaimed indignantly, standing up as if to prove his growth._

 

_“Ah yes, I apologize, son.” John exclaimed, voice growing exaggeratedly regal for Gilbert’s amusement._

 

_Gilbert exploded with fits of giggles at his father’s voice, curls bouncing when he laughed especially hard. Weakly, John stood up and moved over to where Gilbert was and begun tickling his ribs which in turn caused even more giggle bouts to an already red-faced Gilbert._

 

_Suddenly, John erupted in a fit of coughing. It was a wet, sickening cough that portrayed just how sick Gilbert’s father had been. Gilbert had been oblivious to his father’s situation as a child, and he desperately wished it had been different._

 

Gilbert had been lost in thought as he trekked along the path, by the time he became aware of his surrounding he realized he wasn’t sure where he was. He couldn’t find it within himself to care, still too lost in his mourning, he knew as long as he could make out the faint outline of the path he could get home.

 

 _Home_ , the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. His father had been his home for most of his life and he was gone, just like the rest of his family. He had found his own make-shift family, Bash and Mary, but it was different. He didn’t _belong_ to anyone; in a few years Bash and Mary would leave to form their own family. They would still be in touch, but Gilbert would come home to an empty house once again, just like before.

 

The sun was still high in the sky as he approached an open field that led to a cliff. Gilbert could smell the ocean spray, taste the saltiness of his lips. He was surprised by how far he’d gone since the beach was miles away from the train station but he paid no matter to that, still too caught up in his thoughts.

 

The grass brushed against his calves as he walked towards the small cliff. The view from the cliff was absolutely astounding, he found himself wishing that he had the same scope of imagination as Anne, so he could describe the view in intricate detail. 

 

His father had only taken him to the beach a few times since the costal air didn’t do any good for his delicate lungs.

 

_Gilbert had gone downstairs to find his father sitting at the dining room table, his head leaning on his tired arms. Gilbert was a bit older now, having had gone through fourteen winters. He now understood the gravity of his father’s illness, and strove to help relieve his pain. Thankfully, his father’s condition had been improving over the months but it worried Gilbert to see his father looking so … sullen._

 

_“Father, is everything well?” Gilbert asked quietly as he moved closer to his father._

 

_His father frightened once he heard Gilbert’s approach, trying to compose himself and wiping tears from his face._

 

_“Father?” Gilbert tried once more, moving to kneel by his father’s chair. His father seemed to stumble out of his reverie, hazy eyes moving to look at his son. “Father, should I fetch the doctor?”_

 

_“No, Gillie,” he murmured, eyes still not meeting his own. Gilbert watched carefully as his father’s shaky hand reached for an envelope lying on the table._

 

_“Oh, is it a letter from Walter?” The young boy asked as he reached for the envelope, startled when his father practically ripped it from his arms._

_“No!” he whispered harshly, mostly to himself rather than his son. Gilbert looked at his father curiously, eyes narrowing. His father was acting rather odd, first the nickname he hadn’t heard in years, and now the odd reaction to the letter. “W- Why don’t we make our way to the beach?”_

 

_Gilbert’s brow rose skeptically, but he was not about to say no to his sick father. “Of course, Father, I’ll prepare the horses.”_

 

_“You do that, son.” John responded quietly, tears still forming in his eyes threatening to overflow. “I’ll dress in something warmer.”_

 

_Gilbert simply nodded once again, knowing better than to call his father out. He walked out to the foyer, wincing at the sound of his father’s hacking cough._

 

_The journey to the beach had been uneventful; his father had sat quietly staring at the changing landscape around them. Gilbert would glance over at him only to find his father tightly clutching the white envelope in his equally pale hands. The worry was eating away at Gilbert’s insides, and Gilbert couldn’t envision what had caused his father to be in such a state._

 

_Once they’d reached the shore, Gilbert spread out a blanket on the sand and helped his father sit comfortably. Gilbert didn’t allow himself to marvel at the beauty of the beach and instead focused on his father._

 

_“Father, what’s eating at you?” Gilbert asked inquisitively, his eyebrows scrunching. His father didn’t answer for a moment; Gilbert averted his gaze and instead threaded his fingers through the grainy sand. He turned back after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the tension and worry swallowing him whole. Gilbert was surprised to see his father with tears streaming down his face. Quickly he got closer to his father, hoping to give him a source of comfort, just as his father had done for him over the years._

 

_“Father, what is it?” Gilbert asked, desperation clear in his voice. The younger boy began rubbing his father’s back, hoping to get some answers. “Did the doctor say something concerning? Or-”_

 

_A heartbreaking sob erupted from his father, the sob racking his entire body. “Wal-Walter is-”_

 

_“Walter? Did he get injure-”_

 

_“Your brother is dead!” wailed John, his face red, spit spewing out startling Gilbert. “He’s dead!”_

 

_John crumpled up the envelope and threw it in Gilbert’s direction. Gilbert sat back unbelievingly, stoically watching as his father beat the sand with his fists. Walter was dead. Dead just like his mother, just like Mary, like Johnny, Dean. A once large family of six now reduced to a mere two. Gilbert wondered, apprehensively, if death would take his father as well. Surely, the world wouldn’t be so cruel. They’d lost so much already, he wasn’t sure if he could stand anymore._

 

_His father was unraveling, like the thread on Walter’s old shirt, and Gilbert would have to be there to sew him back together. Gilbert would become a beam of support for his father, if that meant abandoning his studies so be it. He wouldn’t cry, at least, not today._

 

_Gilbert watched his father collapse on the sandy beach, sobs still tearing from his throat. John looked up to the heavens, resigned, tears slipping down his face like rain on a window pane. The sunlight hitting his father, framing him just right. A perfect painting of the despair that comes from love._

 

_Gilbert decided right then and there, that if this was love, he didn’t want it._

 

A harsh gust of wind shook Gilbert out of his thoughts, all those repressed memories suddenly overwhelming him just like the waves on the beach below him. He was on the very edge of the cliff, holding his hands in the air, marveling at the feel of the cool air. Walter would have loved the view, he thought bitterly, if there’s anyone who should still be alive it should’ve been Walter. Walter with the green eyes, winning smile, and big dreams.  Walter whose life was cut to short because of silly dispute. Gilbert should’ve died instead, not Walter.

 

He sat at the very edge of the cliff, if anyone saw him now they would surely chastise him on being so reckless, but Gilbert couldn’t find it within himself to care. He stood up again, unable to stay still when his body was aching to move, moving back to the field. He stares at the heavens just as his father had done on that dreaded day years ago.

 

The frustration bubbles inside him, reminding him of the fire that had destroyed the Gillis’ home.  It builds continuously, as if begging to be voiced and it overwhelms him. Overwhelms him to the point where he barely registers in his mind that he’s yelling and screaming until his throat is hoarse with emotion. Gilbert yells for his childhood, for his father, for the dead. Anyone nearby must think him madman, but Gilbert is far too occupied mourning to care.

 

He couldn’t mourn for his mother for he never knew her. He only heard stories of her beauty and bravery from his late siblings and briefly from his father. His mourning for his father, however, seemed to be never ending. The memories of his late father seemed to surround Gilbert at every angle, burying him ten feet under just like his family.

 

_Gilbert had been repairing the wheel on their old cart when he heard the house keeper’s faint yell. Gilbert wasn’t sure how he knew, maybe it was the desperation in her voice or maybe it was the faint voice in his head telling him it was time. He’d stumbled on the ice countless times but he didn’t let that keep him from seeing his father for what could be the last time. Finally, he reached the doorway and stumbled into the stuffy home._

 

_The house keeper was hovering over his father, holding a cold cloth on his forehead. Gilbert took one look at his father and knew the situation was worsening._

 

_“I- Should I fetch the doctor?” Gilbert asked desperately, trying to find something to occupy himself with._

 

_“No, Gil.” The house keeper murmured sympathetically, “There’s no time, I fear … I fear this is it.”_

 

_Gilbert felt a lump well in his throat at her remark, knowing it to be true. Tears were forming in his eyes but he forced them down, there would be time for that after. For now, he had to comfort his dad and make his passing as smooth as he could._

 

_“I’ll leave you two alone,” The keeper murmured, averting her gaze from the father and son. She pitied the boy, he’d suffered enough to have his father taken away as well. Meanwhile, Gilbert had moved a chair closer to his father, desperately clutching John’s hand._

 

_“Gil-Gillie,” he murmured weakly, his breathing labored. “Remember, son. The wor- world is vast, bu- but sometimes …” a violent cough racked his weak body, blood spewing from John’s mouth. Gilbert tried to clean him up as well as he could but it was no use, “Sometimes … you ne- need to come ho-home.”_

 

_Gilbert nodded vigorously, unable to form any words. The tears were slipping from his eyes, wetting his father’s hand._

 

_They say that upon death the human body releases a final surge of energy, much like Ms. Stacy’s lightbulbs, and that was apparent upon John Blythe’s last moments. Gilbert watched in awe as his father smiled a pure and healthy smile that Gilbert could only recall seeing such a smile when he was healthy. John’s eyes cleared, for just a moment, and his frail hand reached for his son’s hair, fingers pulling on his curls playfully. Gilbert chuckled wetly, tears falling with greater abundance as he nuzzled against his father’s hand._

 

_“Don’t cry, Gillie.” John murmured, fingers wiping Gilbert’s tears off adoringly, “We had a good ride, my boy. I on- only wished we had more time.”_

 

_“As do I father,” he whispered, a sad smile gracing his lips “I love you.”_

 

_“I love you too, son.” John whispered, voice growing weaker with every word. Gilbert knew his father’s time to depart was fast approaching but he couldn’t let go just yet. “Re- read for me, Gillie.”_

 

_Obedient as ever, Gilbert picked up the worn copy of Walt Whitman’s poems without letting go of his father’s hand. He read until his throat had grown hoarse and the sun had long set, long after his father had departed from the world. The house-keeper came in soon after, only to find Gilbert still clutching his dead father’s hand while reading mutely. She departed to fetch the priest, after covering John Blythe’s corpse with a white sheet, hoping to give the boy another moment of privacy._

 

_Finally, Gilbert hadn’t allowed himself to cry any more than he already had. Preparations were to be made and there would be no time for his incessant feelings, he’d bottle it up for a while more._

 

_The humble house radiated emptiness and loneliness, emotions that were practically pouring from Gilbert’s soul._

 

Gilbert was sitting in the tall grass, his screaming session having ended after his throat grew sore. His eyes positively burned with unshed tears, the grass tickling his knees. He’d been out on clearing for hours and he had yet to feel any better. Traces of his father were in every single crack and crevice of Avonlea. Devils, he’d even recognized his father in Bash, something about the way Bash doted upon him.

 

Gilbert fully leaned back, his back on the soft earth allowing the tears to finally, finally escape from his tired eyes. He was confident that nobody would stumble upon him in this secluded area, of course he was wrong.

 

“Gil?”

 

His eyes snapped open, alarmed by the voice and looking in the general direction of the speaker. Alarmed, he quickly stood and wiped the tears from his eyes, not meeting her inquisitive gaze.

 

“Anne” he murmured, half in a daze. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

 

Anne Shirley Cuthbert was a sight for sore eyes, her fiery hair loose from its usual braid and flowing freely with the wind, reminding Gilbert of a nymph.  Anne’s bright eyes bluer than the ocean itself, Gilbert swore he could drown in them given the chance. Gilbert was unsure of his appearance at the moment but he was sure it wasn’t a pleasant sight.

 

Anne moved a bit closer to the boy, her eyes narrowing at the sight of his puffy eyes. Gilbert squirmed uncomfortably, feeling bare as Anne looked him over.

 

“I do hope I’m not intruding,” she said softly, as if sensing his discomfort. Anne herself moved from side to side, her fingers pulling at her sleeve.

 

“Not at all, Anne,” Gilbert replied earnestly, his eyes still watery.

 

The pair stood there for another moment, both silent as they take in the other’s appearance. The ocean air tousled their hair, the air electric between the two.

 

Finally, Anne broke the silence, “What’s eating at you, Gillie?” she asked playfully, hoping he wouldn’t mind the nickname.

 

Gilbert tensed as soon as he heard the nickname, the wounds still fresh. He looked away as the tears begun spilling anew, more following like a broken stream. He sniffled quietly, chewing his lip and trying to contain his tears.

 

“Gil?” Anne asked stepping closer to the boy, as he furiously wiped the tears away. Her heart ached for him, not pitying, but she mourned for the boy who had lost so much and gained nothing in return. She desperately wished she could help ease his pain.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly, he looked up towards the heavens. “Everything’s been piling up on me lately and I don’t, I can’t-”

 

“Gil, it’s alright.” Anne responded, as she moved closer to him, “Would you mind … if I embraced you?”

 

Gilbert simply nodded, his throat too sore to respond, his eyes moving back to her figure. Anne approached him slowly as if he would be scared off and wrapped her thin arms around his taller frame gently.  Lord, it had been so long since Gilbert had been embraced. He positively melted around Anne, his head leaning to rest on her shoulder as he wept.

 

It was an embrace, simple as that, but Gilbert swore that feeling Anne so close to him, revitalized him and filled him with strength. Anne squeezed him harder, murmuring gentle reassurances into his ear.

 

“It’s too much, Anne.” Gilbert whispered breathlessly, feeling Anne shudder below him, “All the memories, they just remind me of everything I lost and-“

 

Anne rubbed circles on his shoulder, trying to bring him comfort as best as she could, she knew this wasn’t time for her to ramble but rather listen to what Gilbert had to say. He leaned against her heavily, moving her hair around his finger, as his tears intensified.

 

“It hurts, Anne.” He sobbed, tears soaking her pinafore, he moved away from their embrace and immediately missed the warmth Anne provided. His hands lingered on her shoulders and chewed his lip hurriedly. Anne couldn’t help but admire his strength and resilience; here was a boy who wasn’t ashamed of crying in front of her even if it would be frowned upon. She couldn’t help but think that Gilbert was still looked radiant, even in his current state.

 

Gilbert’s knees buckled, weak with emotion, and he kneeled on the earth. “The memories- they’re ever looming.” He whimpered, looking up towards her as she kneeled beside him. “God, somet- sometimes I wish I could forget.”

 

He let out a sob and leaned against Anne once again, neither caring about propriety. “My father used to call me Gillie.” He whispered, clawing at his heart as if trying to rid himself of the memory. Anne swore her blood turned to ice, “I’m sorry, Gil, I wasn’t aware.”

“Its water under the bridge,” He responded, a small smile gracing his lip as the tears flew earnestly.

 “Gil- the memories are there to bring you comfort,” she murmured, putting her hand on his chin and angling him to look at her, “Appreciate the time you had and honor the lives they lead, they aren’t truly gone if they’re in your heart.”

 

He sobbed once more, his hands moving to caress her face gently, “You’re a godsend Anne Shirley- Cuthbert.” He murmured, watching her skin flush beautifully.

 

The pair stayed there a while, kneeling and wrapped in each other. Gilbert’s tears dried out eventually too tired out for anymore. The sun was beginning to set and they realized they’d have to be home soon.

 

“Thank you, Anne.” Gilbert murmured, looking abashed. “You’ve been a true comfort. I don’t believe I’m done mourning, but it was a healthy start.”

 

Anne smiled kindly at him, looping her hand around his elbow. Gilbert’s heart stuttered at her actions, still completely enamored with her. “Walk me home?” she asked sweetly, wiping dried tears from Gilbert’s eyes gently.

 

“Always.”

 

Gilbert believed he finally understood what Anne had said to him all those years ago on his father’s funeral; she’d said that he’d been lucky to have the memories of his family. At the time, the words infuriated him, he hadn’t felt lucky but broken. But he realized now, that the memories could be a comfort rather than a curse.

 

It would take some time to truly heal from all his wounds, but he would get there … with help.

 

 

 

_“Where could Gillie be?” John asked loudly from the porch, amusement clear on his voice. A small curly-headed boy exploded in a fit of poorly concealed giggles at the remark, revealing his hiding place._

 

_“I wonder … is he under this rock?” John wondered aloud, checking under a pebble comically. He purposely ignored the small feet poking out from the curtain._

 

_“Perhaps, he’s behind …” John teased, moving the curtain gently before pulling it open playfully, “There he is!” exclaimed John as he pulled a laughing Gilbert over his shoulder and threw him on the couch playfully._

 

_“Father!” Gilbert giggled, curls tousled all over and John began tickling him all over. Up until Gilbert’s face turned red with laughter and John grew tired._

 

_“You’ll be okay.” John murmured, moving his son’s curls out of his face, a broad smile on his face._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to @lacuna.z for reading and helping with some of the plot. Check out her edits on insta, they're really good!  
> Also thank you to anyone else who helped me write it, talking about you Jess :))  
> Come talk to me on social media!  
> Instagram // gimmiebookspls  
> Tumblr // reastyles
> 
> also, please leave kudos if you enjoyed!


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